Therapy Bits

Upon a pumpkin round and bright,
A velvet shadow rests in light,
The autumn air is crisp and thin,
Yet warmth begins where fur meets skin.

Her whiskers twitch at drifting leaves,
A sigh escapes, the garden grieves,
But she, content, knows naught of sorrow,
She dreams of mice she’ll chase tomorrow.

The orange globe beneath her paws
Holds secrets of the harvest laws,
While moonlight spills across her back,
A silver thread on midnight black.

The pumpkin waits for carving hands,
The cat obeys no such commands—
For every season finds its grace,
When pumpkins serve as throne and place.

Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge #339 – Mom With a Blog